It was certainly a strange adventure for a business man, but Harding believed that his comrade would perish unless help could be obtained. He shook hands with Benson, who wished him a sincere "Good-luck!" and then, with the Indian leading, struck out through the muskeg toward the shadowy hills.
CHAPTER XI
KIDNAPPED
Harding had cause to remember the forced march he made to the Stony village. The light was faint, and the low ground streaked with haze, as they floundered through the muskeg, sinking deep in the softer spots and splashing through shallow pools. When they reached the first hill bench he was hot and breathless, and their path led sharply upward over banks of ragged stones which had a trick of slipping down when they trod on them. It was worse where the stones were large and they stumbled into the hollows between. Then they struggled through short pine-scrub, crawled up a wet gorge where thick willows grew, and afterward got entangled among thickets of thorny canes. Harding's clothes were badly torn and his boots giving out; his breath was labored, and his heart beat painfully, but he pressed on upward, without slackening his pace, for he knew there was no time to be lost.
It was exhausting toil, and trying to the man who, until he entered that grim country, had undergone no physical training and had seldom tried his muscles; being left to shift for himself at an unusually early age had prevented his even playing outdoor games. His career had been a humble one, but it had taught him self-reliance, and when he was thrown into the company of men brought up in a higher station he was not surprised that they accepted him as an equal and a comrade. There was, however, nothing assertive in the man; he knew his powers and their limitations. Now he clearly recognized that he had undertaken a big thing; but the need was urgent, and he meant to see it through. He was of essentially practical temperament, a man of action, and it was necessary that he should keep up with his Indian guide as long as possible. Therefore, he braced himself for the arduous task.
In the afternoon they reached a tableland where traveling was slightly easier; but when they camped without a fire among the rocks, one of Harding's feet was bleeding, and he was very weary. Walking was painful for the first hour after they started again at dawn, but after walking a while his galled foot troubled him less, and he doggedly followed the Indian up and down deep ravines and over rough stony slopes. Then they reached stunted timber: thickly massed, tangled pines, with many dead trees among them, a number which had fallen, barring the way. The Indian seemed tireless; Harding could imagine his muscles having been toughened into something different from ordinary flesh and blood. He was feeling great distress; but for the present there was only one thing for him to do, and that was to march. He saw it clearly with his shrewd sense; and though his worn-out body revolted, his resolution did not flinch.
They forced a way through thickets, they skirted precipitous rocks, passed clusters of ragged pines, and plunged down ravines. In the afternoon the sun was hot, and when it got low a cold wind buffeted them as they crossed the height of land. Harding's side ached, and his feet were bleeding, but the march went on. Just before dark there opened up before them a wide valley, fading into the blue distance, with water shining in its midst and gray blurs of willows here and there. However, it faded swiftly, and Harding found himself limping across a stony ridge into a belt of drifting mist. Half an hour afterward he threw himself down, exhausted, beside a fire in a sheltered hollow.
Late at night they stopped a few minutes to listen and look about on the outskirts of the Indian village. Thick willows stretched up to it, with mist that moved before a light wind drifting past them; and the blurred shapes of conical tepees showed dimly through the vapor. The night was dark but still, and Harding knew that a sound would carry some distance. He felt his heart beat tensely, but there was nothing to be heard. He had seen dogs about the Indian encampments farther south and he was afraid now of hearing a warning bark; but nothing broke the silence, and he concluded that Clarke's friends were unable to find food enough for sled-teams. This was reassuring, because the odds against him were heavy enough, knowing, as he did, that the Indian's sense of hearing is remarkably keen.
Making certain that his magazine pistol was loose, he motioned to his guide and they moved cautiously forward. The ground was fortunately clear, and their footsteps made little noise, though now and then tufts of dry grass which Harding trod upon rustled with what seemed to him alarming distinctness. Still, nobody challenged them, and creeping up to the center of the village they stopped again. The nearest of the tepees was only thirty or forty yards away, though others ran back into the mist. As Harding stood listening, with tingling nerves, he clearly recognized the difficulty of his enterprise. In the first place, there was nothing to indicate which tent Clarke occupied; and it was highly undesirable that Harding should choose the wrong one and rouse an Indian from his slumbers. Then, it was possible that the man shared a tepee with one of his hosts, in which case Harding would place himself at the Indian's mercy by entering it. Clarke was a dangerous man, and his Stony friends were people with rudimentary ideas and barbarous habits. Harding glanced at his guide, but the man stood very still, and he could judge nothing about his feelings from his attitude.
Fortune favored them, for as Harding made toward a tepee, without any particular reason for doing so, except that it stood a little apart from the others, he saw a faint streak of light shine out beneath the curtain. This suggested that it was occupied by the white man; and it was now an important question whether he could reach it silently enough to surprise him. Beckoning the Indian to fall behind, he crept forward, with his heart beating painfully, and stopped a moment just outside the entrance. It was obvious that he had not been heard, but he could not tell whether Clarke was alone. Then the Indian, creeping silently up behind him, dragged the doorway open. Harding jumped quickly through the entrance, and stood, ragged, unkempt, and strung up, blinking in the unaccustomed light.